Like Father, Like Son
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Steve & Tony are in a relationship and everything is going great. Tony thinks Steve's a virgin & wanted Tony to be his first. Months later, Tony convinces Steve to try a little dirty talk. Steve is a natural at it. Almost too natural. Tony's past is revealed to the team, and now Tony needs to decide: be a victim or a survivor. *Non-con, Incest, Child Abuse, Underage, Self-Harm*
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, Tony, god you feel so good. Feel how strong you are. _Damn._"

Tony allows himself a smirk as he continues ravishing Steve's equally muscled body. Ok, maybe, maybe Steve was a tiny bit stronger and a little bit taller and had a smidgen more stamina than him, if he was being honest, but that didn't mean Tony would let that stop him. Not when he was earning the most delicious moans and grunts from Steve as he fucked into the super-soldier's welcoming body.

"Faster. Need more of you. I can take it. Please, Tony, _please_!"

"Alright, honey, you want it, you get it."

Tony increased the force of his thrusts, feeling his thighs cramp a bit, but not daring to stop now, not when Steve and he were both so close. If someone had asked Tony a year ago if he thought Captain America: a) had had sex or b) was a talker in the bedroom, he would have laughed loudly and given them an emphatic, "Fuck no." Sometimes Tony Stark was wrong. But never before had being wrong had such wonderful consequences.

"More, Tony, more-mmmmmm. _Ah, ah, ah_...!"

And this is the part Tony likes best, when his partner stops talking, stops even being able to beg, and just lets out these one syllable noises that go straight to his dick.

"'M close, Steve. Gonna come in your ass soon. Gonna feel me fill you up with my come."

Steve moans and reaches a hand down to stroke his cock in time with Tony's thrusts.

"Tony, Tony, I-_god_!"

Tony feels Steve's ass clench around him in a hot vice, almost as if it were trying to milk him dry. It was only a few more shoves in that he, too, was coming. It was a feeling that never got old. H should have known it would be perfect with Steve. When Steve was through, he held Tony close to his body as they came down from their shared high.

They kiss and smile and kiss some more, happy. Tony enjoys their little whispers, saying, "I love you" as they fall asleep.

Steve leans up to kiss Tony's mouth and murmur, "My first and last will be a Stark."

Jesus Christ, could the guy be any more romantic?

Their relationship is probably one of the healthier ones Tony has had. Steve provides a consistency in his life that he didn't even know he was missing. They work, live, eat, fight, and sleep together. Steve is always there for him, no matter what. And perhaps feeling that way about his boyfriend—that's right, they went as far as labeling themselves monogamous—made him seem childish, but Tony could say that he honestly didn't care. He was happy with the stability that came with their relationship. And the sex. The sex was awesome.

_Was_.

They are in the middle of undressing each other one evening when Tony decides to voice an idea that he had been thinking about but had been waiting to share until he thought Steve would be comfortable with it.

"Wanna try something new tonight, Cap?"

Steve frowns and puts on his best Captain America listen-closely-to-what-I-am-saying-to-you voice.

"Tony, I've already told you that I am _not_ going to 're-enact that scene from _Sherlock Holmes_ where he hangs himself because it would make for some really insteresting sex.' It's a movie, and that actor, unlike you would be, was never in any real danger."

"You even said that he looked like me. You are not even considering—ok, that's an argument for another time and is totally not what I was going to suggest."

Steve still looks skeptical, so Tony leans up to kiss it better and say what he was actually going to say in the first place.

"Dirty talk. I figured that since you're already pretty vocal in the bedroom," Steve blushes a bit so Tony continues with, "which I Iove, by the way, would be the next logical step. Wouldn't you agree?"

Steve thinks about for a second while Tony looks on expectantly. It's been quite a while since someone requested that of him in the bedroom. He figures he will be a bit rusty, but what better way to slip back into a role than with some practice?

"Sure, Tony. You want me to talk dirty to you, I will. Get on the bed, bitch," he says with a bit of force behind it.

Tony shivers in excitement. The command seemed to have rolled off his tongue, which made Tony think that maybe this wasn't Steve's first time doing this. But wait, that couldn't be because he was Steve's first...right? His train of thought is cut off when two lubed fingers shove into him.

"Got to get my whore nice and wet for me, though I doubt you'll need it since you're such a slut. Probably loose from the other guys who fuck you, huh?"

Shit, he's got a filthy mouth on him. All he can do is moan in response. He hits his prostate on the third stroke in and every stroke after that. He barely even realize Steve said something.

"I asked you a question, you tramp. Answer me: how many other guys fuck you when I'm not around? Who else do you let claim your pussy when you think I'm not looking?"

Oh fuck. Did Steve practice this? Where did he learn how to talk like that? Sure he swears in bed—who doesn't?—but never like this. Steve presses insistantly against his sweet spot.

"No one! Just you, Steve. Only you," he whines.

Steve adds another finger to the two that have already started a quick in-and-out rhythm in Tony's ass.

"Sure, Tony, sure. I see the way you flirt with Bruce in the lab. Does he fuck you? No, no, not Bruce per se. The Hulk is probably the only one who still thinks you're tight."

The Hulk? That was all kinds of dirty-bad-wrong.

"Steve, Steve, I need you. Need you inside me now."

Steve removes his fingers and begins to lube up his erection.

"Of course you do, slut. You don't know what to do without a cock up your ass, do you?"

Tony whimpers, shoving his ass in the air in the hopes that that will be answer enough. Steve has no idea what his words are doing to him. These filthy, awful words that have him hard and dripping on the sheets.

Steve smacks his ass hard enough to sting but light enough to not leave a mark.

"I'll say this one more time: you answer me when I ask you a question. Three strikes and I'm out. Then you can deal with your dick by yourself."

"No, no, no," Tony begs. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do with your cock up my ass. I think about it all the time. I try dildos, but it's just not enough to fill me like you do. Please, Steve, please. I need you to fuck me."

"You can fuck yourself. Ride me."

Steve lays on his back with hands behind his head, dangerous smile on his face. Wow, this was easier to get into than he had thought. It probably had to do with the fact that the last time he was in his current situation was also with a Stark. He waits for Tony to make the move.

When Tony finally gets enough of his wits about him to do so, he does. He crawls up Steve's body, straddles his warm, muscle-hard thighs, and holds his cock for him to sink down on. He lets out a sigh when he is fully seated. There's just something comforting about knowing that even though Steve has taken on this dominating role, it's still Steve beneath him, still the Steve that loves him, the Steve that he loves in return. God when did he become such a sap? He starts to ride him then, finding a good rhythm that both he and Cap are comfortable with.

"That's right. Take it, take all of it. I know you can. You're a natural at this, Tony. Fuck, just like Howard. God, I don't know what that man loved more: America or my cock up his ass."

Wait, _what_? Tony's pace falters, but Steve doesn't seem to notice. He just keeps going.

"He liked riding me, too, Tony, but god, you take it like a champ. A godamn champ. Like this, you could even pass as him, you know."

That's it. No. No. Fuck no. He starts to move off him, litany of "no" choing in his head. He pulls away from Steve at record speeds. Steve immediately snaps back into himself.

"Tony? Tony what are you doing?"

When he makes a grab at Tony, Tony jumps off the bed and hapharzdly pulls on his jeans and tee shirt before bolting from the room.

No, no, no, no.

He takes the stairs down because he dooesn't think the super-fast elevator would be fast enough for him right now, and he's got plenty of adrenalin to burn. With shaking hands, he enters the code for his lab and tells Jarvis that under no circumstances, not even if it meant his own demise, was he to let anyone into the lab for any reason.

With the AI's assent, he makes his way on trembling legs to the futon he had installed in here for times when a project couldn't be ignored but neither could sleep. And while he knew no sleeping of any kind would take place in it tonight, it didn't stop him from climbing into it and hiding his head under the covers. Here he was warm and safe and no one could touch him or look at him. Under the covers it was just Tony.

Just Tony.

Wasn't it always that way?

And he won't think about it. Won't think about Howard. He won't, he won't, he won't. He had hoped that those bruises and broken bones and rope burns and black eyes and cuts and scarpes were over with. In the past. Died along with the monster. And here he is almost thirty years later cowering under a blanket as he remembers drunken encounter after drunken encounter: shoved to his knees in the study, hit over the head with bottles, his door opening at midnight when everyone else was sleeping, Obie taping things...On and on and on. They came back to him in floods of tears and aching memories that made him want to die.

He had thought Steve would be different. God Tony, for a genius, you sure are a fucking dumbass. He wishes more than anything that he could rewind the last two hours and start over and never ask Steve to try something new in bed. Right now he could be enjoying good ole missionary and kissing Steve and everything would be fine. Instead he's here, bawling his eyes out at the injustice of it all.

He hears Jarvis deny access to someone outside the door and peeks his head out from his cocoon of blankets to see who had found him. It was Steve, looking worried and scared and red-faced, not even aware of the extent of the damage he had caused but only aware that he had done something horribly, perhaps unforgivably, wrong.

"Tony!" he shouts, voice muffled by the glass. "Tony, for whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please come talk to me!"

No, Tony thinks. There is nothing to talk to Steve about.

He pulls the blanket back over his face.

"Tony! Tony, please!"

He doesn't see Steve bang his fist against the wall and slide down the glass to the floor. He doesn't see Steve put his face in his hands and start to cry. He doesn't see Steve's shoulders shake with sobs.

Now Steve was just another thing in his life Howard had destroyed.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: When Tony refuses to come out of his lab, the team calls in reinforcement.

Tony refuses to come out of his workshop for any reason. Though Steve and the other Avengers have tried to bring him food and clothes and tried to coax him out, Tony refused them all. On the fifth day of his self-imposed isolation, they call Fury figuring that he might be able to talk some sense into him because Steve has been walking around the tower like a zombie, mentally abusing himself for bringing up Howard but not understanding the implications of his words. The team assumes Howard must have done some pretty awful things to get such a reaction from Tony, and Fury is the only one besides Tony who would know what they were.

Fury shows up, and it's obvious that he's not happy. Bruce leads him to the lab and makes as though he's going to go in with him, but Fury turns his eye on him, and Bruce stammers a bit before turning in the other direction. Fury punches in the overdrive code—Stark's not the only hacker in the world—and walks into the lab. He finds a haggard looking Tony sitting on a rumpled bed munching on a granola bar and staring off into space, eyes not focused on anything in particular. Fury sighs quietly and drags a chair over to sit in front of Tony, trying to get his attention.

"Your team is worried about you, Stark. How much longer do you think you can live in here without food and water?"

Tony faces him and the black bags under his eyes are telling. "I don't plan to live much longer, honestly."

"So because you have problems, that means you can just give up? What the hell gives you the right to do that?"

Tony's eyebrows come together and frown tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"What gives me the _right_ to choose how I do or don't live? What makes you think this is any of your business?"

Good, Fury thinks, he's getting angry. Time to push.

"Damn it, Stark, it's my 'business' because you work for me, you answer to me. I give you a lot of leeway, but now you're getting fucking ridiculous wallowing away down here in your hole. I take you for a lot of things, but I never took you to be a coward."

Tony jumps up with more energy than he's had in days, fists balled at his sides, seething.

"Fuck you, Fury. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? My father was the worst son of a bitch that ever walked the face of this Earth to me. You know. You fucking _know_ what he did! He raped me. And I showed him. I'm motherfucking Iron Man. I don't need you or anyone else reminding me of him because I'm not him and I never will be! So leave me the hell alone!"

Fury let Tony see him smile.

"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better myself."

Tony blinked.

"What?"

"You're right. You're not your father. You've proven that. You save lives. You're part of a team that cares about you so much they called me in near tears because they didn't know what you were going to do to yourself. You are so much more than your past, Tony."

"You called me Tony."

"What now?"

Tony lets himself grin for the first time in nearly a week.

"You called me Tony!"

Fury made a mock frown. "You're so hungry you're hearing things, Stark. Go be with your team before I drag your ass out of here."

Tired, worn, and hungry, Tony continued to smile. "Yes, Director."

Fury watches him walk to the door on new colt's legs with his own private smile. Tony had been through some shit and he knows that a serious conversation between Tony and Steve, and mostly likely the other Avengers, must take place, but Fury isn't worried. Tony doesn't have to be alone anymore. He never has to be alone again.

Fury stands up to walk out of the lab himself but stops at the door.

"Jarvis? I take it you'll wipe surveillance of the first name basis incident?"

"Certainly, Director Fury."

"Good."

Jarvis plans on doing no such thing.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Tony begins to see a psychiatrist, and she ends up being more helpful than he's willing to admit. When he gets home from one of his appointments, Bruce makes him lunch and they begin to rebuild their bridge.

SHIELD forces Tony into counseling after that, which he is honestly a little bit grateful for, not that he would ever admit that to Fury. He enters Dr. Janine's office for the sixteenth time in two months and plops down on the black leather couch with a sigh. This has been helping him, but it still isn't easy to open up to a compete stranger and confront all of his demons in front of her.

At 3:00 on the dot, Janine Moris enters and takes her seat in the doctor's chair.

"Hello, Mr. Stark. Are you ready to begin? Shall I start or will you?"

This is her opening line for every single one of his appointments. Tony watches her arrange her clipboard and tuck a pen behind her ear. It quickly gets hidden behind a mass of curly red hair. Hair that is offset by the shades of green and blue she usually wears. The price tag says Sears, but her style says Calvin Klein. He appreciates SHIELD giving him someone who obviously prides themselves on their appearances without being severe. Janine always seems comfortable around herself, which often translates into the way she orchestrates their appointments. SHIELD was getting to know him to well.

"Ready as I'll ever be. And shoot, ask me anything."

"Ok," she says with a small, but not false, smile. She flips back through some of her notes to find where they left off a few days ago. "Well, you've mentioned someone named 'Obi' a few times, but I'm not very clear on who he is. Perhaps you would like to start there, Mr. Stark?"

"Tony. You can call me Tony. I feel that you don't have to do formal bullshit with someone you've seen cry."

"Tony it is then."

She looks at him a little expectantly and waits for him to answer her question. When he is ready, of course.

Tony sighs again. Getting started is the hardest part. Before he would make crude jokes at his own expense and make inappropriate comments about how pretty Janine looked in the hopes of making her uncomfortable enough to pass him off to someone else and then someone else until there was no one left and everyone would just leave him the fuck alone.

To which Janine said, "If you think your smooth talking and cussing is going to shock me and scare me off, you are wrong. If you think that you are the worst case I've handled, you are more than wrong. I have seen and heard things that would make your blood curdle. You can either accept that fact that you need help and that I am willing to give it, or you can continue to suffer and wallow in your own self-pity. It's your choice, Mr. Stark."

It was then on that Tony knew they would get along just fine.

"Obi, or Obadiah Stane, was my father's business partner. He-well, he was like my father in a lot of ways, but different too. Or at least, I thought he was..."

At 4:30, Tony was shrugging his jacket back on and throwing out some wet tissues.

"You did well today, Tony. Really."

Tony mustered up a sad smile.

"Yeah? Are you telling Fury that too? Because it would be nice if he stopped hovering and getting on my ass all the time."

"I have been, and I will continue to as long as I see that you are progressing."

"Are you two planning on clearing me for active duty any time soon?"

"We've been discussing it," she says carefully, "but no decision has been made yet. I still feel that—"

"Well, this was fun, Doc. Guess I'll see you in a few days."

He walks out the door before she can say anymore. It's been two months since they benched him and it was getting harder and harder to be complacent with that decision. The first two weeks, he was glad for the break, glad to be able to catch up on sleeping and eating. The third and fourth weeks were a little more trying, but simply becoming reacquainted with his teammates without the pressure of a battlefield was nice. He was also starting to get used to seeing Dr. Janine and her green suits and gentle smiles.

The fifth week, he talked to Steve one-on-one for the first time since everything had gone down. He had given the team a basic rundown of what had happened, but he felt that he needed to speak more openly with Steve. Nothing had been solved, but when Steve held Tony's hand for a few seconds over the table, it was ok. Dr. Janine was very proud of his bravery and kindness in putting in the effort and trust that goes in to building and rebuilding a relationship.

The sixth week was torture because there was a new bad guy in town who liked breaking big things that only Hulk and Iron Man would be able to lift. Instead, Hulk and several quinjets did the heavy lifting. He was especially upset when Clint came up to him and told him the Hulk asked for "flying metal man" several times throughout the showdown. He looked over at Bruce who smiled sheepishly and replied, "Well, we really do miss you, Tony."

The seventh week was nearly unbearable because Fury had him fill out all the paperwork that goes along with having a mental breakdown. He filled in half a dozen questionnaires and legal forms and documents stating that he would see a shrink or else he would be fired from SHIELD, causing a chain reaction of several other awful things. It was all quite exhausting and hand-cramping.

And now it appeared as if the eighth week would be little better. Tony can't help but reflect on the past few months as he begins his walk back to Stark Tower. He's opted for walking instead of being driven or driving himself because it helps keep his mind clear and he can think uninterrupted by traffic or phone calls or whatever piece of tech he had been tinkering with the last time he had been in the car. No, these walks were to eliminate distractions. He had hidden behind them for much too long. Dr. Janine should be proud of him. And another thing, if he was making all of these changes, making all of this conscious effort to fix himself, why wasn't he being put back in the real world? He kicked rock down the sidewalk and watched it skitter into the street. He was thankful that the way back to his tower was not crowded at this time of day.

When he had finally returned home and pressed the button to his floor, he felt famished. His appointments always left him drained and hungry, as if needing something to fill up the part of him that was now empty from spilling his guts out to the doctor. Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper, a half eaten sandwich on a plate next to him. He looks up when Tony walks in.

"Hey, Tony. How are you?"

"Starved. There wouldn't happen to be more of that sandwich in the fridge, would there?"

Bruce let out a huff of laughter when Tony's stomach grumbled in agreement.

"No, but I can make you one, if you like."

At Tony's nod, Bruce hops up from his seat and goes about the kitchen collecting bread, condiments, and lunch meat. He hears Tony try to settle down on a chair—his, presumably—and fiddle with the paper. Bruce frowns slightly at hearing Tony fidget so much. He was always pretty antsy, but more-so after seeing his therapist. Bruce could relate. It is difficult having to be so open and honest about your faults and flaws and your past. Bruce cuts Tony's sandwich into two triangles and turns around to see Tony finishing off the last bite of his own sandwich. Tony puts on his best angel face, and Bruce rolls his eyes and hands him his lunch.

"Thanks Bruce, you have no idea how hungry I am right now."

Bruce knows he's telling the truth. He sits down while Tony wolfs down his food in record time. Five minutes later, there is no evidence there had ever been a sandwich on his plate.

"Full now?"

Tony ponders a bit before answering, "Yeah. I think so. I just get—nervous after, and then I get hungry, and I'm sorry I ate your lunch."

Bruce is in no way upset with Tony. Before _it_ happened, Tony barely ate or slept at all, preferring instead to stay in his lab until all hours of the night, past the point that even Bruce had to call it quits. He had thought Tony was being irresponsible and headstrong and downright foolish for thinking he could survive on six cups of coffee and an hour of sleep. And now, now he knew why Tony had done that. It had been his defense mechanism: avoidance, denial. Anything to exhaust him enough so when he finally did knock out, there would be no nightmares to disturb him.

"It's ok, Tony, really."

There's an awkward silence that follows, one that seems to be becoming more and more frequent since his breakdown. It's getting to the point of unbearable the number of times this has been happening, everyone tiptoeing. He gets it; they don't want to pressure him or make him uncomfortable, which he appreciates, but he just can't stand it. He _has_ to say something.

"Bruce, we never talk anymore, like we used to. I miss it. A lot."

Bruce sighs guiltily. He knows that Tony is right. When isn't he?

"I know, Tony, I just-I don't want to pressure you or make you feel as if you owe me or something. I can't-You really scared me, Tony."

Though it's painful to hear Bruce speak that way, he is glad for the honest and sincerity behind his words. They're true. He had scared himself. He hadn't had a mental and emotional breakdown like that in years. He knows that hearing Bruce say these things to him is only the tip of the iceberg. He still has his other teammates to think about: Thor, Clint, Natasha...Steve. Tony begins to feel that panicky feeling inside before he reminds himself to breathe. The worst of it dissipates, but there's still that niggling fear at the back of his head.

"Bruce, I-I don't...I really, really...oh damn it!" he shouts, frustrated for not being able to say what he means. Doesn't know how to apologize and thank Bruce for his friendship and love and support, so he gets up from his seat and walks over to give Bruce a bear hug that he hopes conveys everything he's feeling right now.

Bruce's arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, and he soon finds himself with a lapful of Tony. Then Bruce is reaching up a hand to pet his hair, and it feels so natural to just rest his head on his friend's shoulder as he is enveloped in his warmth. Tony gets choked up when Bruce lets this happen, lets himself be held in Bruce's strong arms that seem to exude heat and love, and it's so touching to feel like this that a tiny sob escapes his mouth before he can stop it.

"It's ok, Tony. We're all here for you, you know that? We want you to get better so you can help us fight and make jokes and-and call people out on their bullshit and everything that makes you _you_, Tony. _I'm_ here for you."

Tony doesn't know how long they stay like that: Tony being rocked in gentle arms and Bruce murmuring sweet things to soothe his nerves. But when he notices Bruce shifting a bit uncomfortably—Tony knows he's not super heavy, but they've been sitting here a while—he gets up feeling a little better and a little more relaxed than he had when he had first gotten home. Bruce stands and stretches out his sore legs before giving Tony his own special brand of a smile.

"You gonna be alright, Tony?"

Tony smiles a little bit back.

"Yeah, Bruce, I'm gonna be alright."


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Tony takes the time to enjoy the small things and begins to learn to appreciate the things he has.

The thing about mental illness is that it is as diverse as the visible light spectrum and as unique to each individual as fingerprints. Each person's illness manifests itself in different ways, and people handle their illness in different manners. They key to it all is that just because someone copes in a different way than you, does not mean you are doing it wrong. It's something that Tony realizes during his second week in group therapy and tenth week with Dr. Janine. And honestly, the revelation is just that: freeing, relieving, comforting. It's nice to know that just because Tony prefers to read science journals when he's feeling anxious, but George prefers building model airplanes, doesn't mean he's doing something wrong. So when Tony walks out of group feeling a bit anxious, he's finally ok with allowing his feet to take him in the direction of the nearest Barnes & Noble.

The door opens and greets him with a blast of cool air and the smell of paper and coffee. If one had asked Tony a few months ago whether he preferred real print or his e-reader, he would have laughed in your face and asked if that was a serious question. But now, now it seems that everything is different. Now he can't imagine not going for the whole experience of perusing the racks of magazines with their glossy covers proclaiming miracle diets and beauty tips and the best place to have your wedding. He would miss thumbing through tech magazines and chuckling at an advertisement for something he invented three years ago that is just now hitting the common man's market. And then he finds the journals he had really come in for—_Science Quarterly_ and _Physicist Weekly—_with a smile on his face. He can't wait to get home and delve into the numerous articles that have been popping up since the discovery of the Higgs Boson particle.

Tony sighs as he allows himself to enjoy, really enjoy, this small pleasure. It's nice to know that there's no pressure behind enjoying the journal. He's learning how to accept things as they are, at least to a point where he can become comfortable in his own skin again, or perhaps for the first time. He walks up to the register and the girl behind the counter smiles in recognition, but refrains from making a scene and asks, "Cash or credit?"

Tony smiles back and hands her a ten and takes the thirty-seven cents back and puts in the tip jar on the counter. Maybe it will help...Jylle, the name tag confirms...get out of a bookstore and out doing what she really wants to do. It's obvious that she's a college student from the backpack he spies behind the counter and a highlighter that is marking a page in her copy of _Crime and Punishment_. He nods at her and wishes her luck in her class before taking his bag and walking out the door back into the fresh air and sunshine.

There's no waiting car or limousine to take him home. Many were surprised to see Tony Stark out and about by himself in the city with the common folk, but once entertainment media got tired of running stories about Tony Stark talking walks, they moved on to the latest hook-ups and break-ups, and his life went back into semi-obscurity since SHIELD did their damnedest to keep the Avengers' activities hush-hush, no matter how benign. And Tony was grateful for it. It was nice to be able to focus on simple, tangible things like feeling the concrete beneath his shoes or the breeze from the ocean on his face...if he wandered far enough. Tony let out a sigh.

That was another thing he had begun to notice. There were such things as degrees of sighing. There were tired sighs, bored sighs, happy sighs, impatient sighs, content sighs, and sighs that just meant you were alive and breathing. Tony liked those best. Sure it was difficult being ok with himself enough to want to live, but slowly it was becoming easier to enjoy things again. Like taking cooking lessons from Bruce or learning card games—and how to cheat at them—with Natasha or going out to dinner with Pepper. For so long he had done things on autopilot or done things because they were expected of a "normal" adult, that now it was nice to take a second and just appreciate the fact that he could savor these experiences, no matter how insignificant they might seem to an outsider. People were taking things for granted, and he had been one of them.

Tony hears some children laughing. He looks up to find he has wandered into Central Park and sees children flying kites. His heart swells with pride when he sees his own face (well, Iron Man's face, but really, same thing). Fuck, kids looked _up_ to him. He had to set a good example. How would parents explain to their child(ren) that Iron Man had killed himself because the going got tough? How could he let them and their parents down like that? Or his own friends? Tony knows that he'll eventually have to start living for himself, but for right now, this thought is enough to keep him going. He doesn't realize it, but he's smiling as he finally makes his way back to his home, his friends.

Tony's sitting at his desk in his lab, pen and notebook out, as he reads through his science journals. He makes note of their accuracies and inaccuracies alike. He's even made a "T" chart to go over with Bruce later to hear what his thoughts are. He's pretty engrossed in the texts, so he almost misses the tiny knock on the glass door. He looks up expecting to see Bruce but sees Steve instead.

Tony would be lying if he said his heart didn't pick up some speed.

Things with Steve are still...complicated...to say the least. They've talked a little, sure. It's hard not to talk to someone who lives in the same building as you and has some of the same friends as you do. But they've yet to have a serious conversation, a real heart-to-heart if you will. Tony's not sure what Steve could possibly be down here for, but he decides to be kind enough to allow him to enter. He buzzes him in.

"H-hi, Tony."

"Hello, Steve," he responds coolly.

Steve opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it before any words could muster the courage to escape. Steve rubs the back of his neck nervously, open his mouth again, closes it. Tony makes no move to assuage his nerves. It's petty, but after the what he's been through these past few months, he feels that he is entitled to cause Steve a bit of anxiety. Steve comes to realize something to this effect and blurts out what had been on his mind.

"Doyouwannagoseeamoviewithme?"

Tony's eyebrow goes up.

"I have no idea what you just said."

Steve takes a deep breath, hands twitching at his sides.

"I-I wanted to know...if you would maybe like to go see a movie with me?"

Tony frowns, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

"I think that's a really bad idea, Steve."

Steve's face colors red. Tony muses that his face would even feel hot to the touch.

"Yeah. Ok. Yeah, you're right. Stupid of me. Sorry. Sorry. I'll just...I'll just go?"

Steve quickly turns around, and it's quite obvious to Tony that it's taking all of his will power not to sprint from Tony's view. As if Steve's own flight-or-fight mechanism was turning on. When he's gone from view, Tony let's out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. He feels a bit shaky, but he thinks he handled the situation fairly well since it was both unexpected and unwelcome. He gets the sudden urge to call Dr. Janine. His hands reaches for his pocket to pull out his phone. For a while he just holds it in his hand, calming himself down by focusing on just the phone. He begins to describe to himself as if he were describing it to someone who couldn't see it: _plastic and glass_, _it's lightweight, fits in your pocket, mine's black. Pepper and Bruce and Doc are on speed-dial. I can call them whenever I need to. They told me I could._ It's an exercise Dr. Janine had recommended to him to help center him when he was feeling off and for some reason, it worked. Who would have thought that thinking about cell phone would stop him from having a panic attack?

Tony let's out a sigh. A nervous one this time. But he works up the courage to call Doc and is a little bit disappointed to get her voice-mail.

"Hey, Doc. It's Tony Stark. Uh, sorry to bother you and everything, but I was just feeling badly. Or is it bad? I had a friend who tried to explain it to me once, but I got mixed answers, and that it totally not why I'm calling you at 11:28 in the evening. So, maybe call me back if you can. Bye."

He ends the call.

"Smooth, Stark. Very smooth."

Tony goes back into his contacts and hits Bruce's number. It rings three times until a groggy voice answers, "Hello?"

"Oh shit, Bruce, were you sleeping? Usually you're still up, so I figured I'd call 'cause I...need someone to talk to right now."

Tony hears what sounds lie Bruce shaking himself awake.

"What? No, I wasn't sleeping, Tony. Are you in the lab? I'll come down. Just give me a five minutes, ok?"

Tony let's out a bit of a laugh since Bruce is obviously lying about being awake before he called, but he's so grateful that Bruce is coming that he almost lets himself not feel guilty about waking up two people. Just because he was feeling crappy and not in the least bit sleepy didn't mean other people weren't perfectly able to fall asleep.

Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Bruce was walking into the lab with two mugs in his hand. At Tony's quizzical look, Bruce answers, "Hot chocolate. My mother used to make it for me when I was kid. I mean, I know it's only microwaved, but I thought maybe it would make you feel better too."

"Thanks, Bruce," Tony says, reaching out for the mug.

"Are there—?"

"Yes, there are mini-marshmallows in there. Come on, Tony, you know I know you better than that."

Tony smiles as Bruce takes the seat across from Tony's desk.

"True, Bruce, true. The Stark food pyramid—in order from most to least important—is caffeine, sugar, alcohol, junk food, and healthy food. Although, now with the medication, alcohol is pretty much 'for special occasions only.' Which is totally unfair, if you ask me."

Bruce nods and takes a sip from his mug as he listens to Tony, waiting for him to divulge what had been on his mind. He can tell Tony is getting fidgety again, so he makes sure not to pressure him into it. He'll talk when he's ready.

"What are those notes for?"

Tony grabs his notepad and hands it over to the Doctor.

"Got two knew journals today. Just came out this morning. Dr. Brian Fellows had a lot to say on spline extrusion...again."

Bruce rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, how does that guy keep getting published? He either says the same thing ten different ways in one article or he write a five page paper on his 'numerous speculations into what we still call the unknown,'" Bruce finishes with a very accurate imitation of the pompous doctor.

Tony shakes his head in agreement.

"No idea. But he gets paid for spewing out the same stuff, so maybe we should do the same thing. Keep sending in the same papers but using up every synonym in the thesaurus to make it sound like it's something new."

Bruce agrees, and they spend considerable time going over Tony's notes and making fun of the blundering authors and praising the ones they've always—and continue to—look up to. But when the conversation dies down a bit into their comfortable, companionable silence, Bruce knows it's time to press Tony for why he had been called down in the first place.

"Hey, Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you call me down here for? The real reason? You sounded pretty upset, and I'm not saying that this wasn't fun. And it was good to see you laughing. But, if something's bothering you..."

Tony sobers up quickly, having almost forgotten the reason Bruce was here in the first place.

"Oh, uh. Well, Steve came down here today. Shortly before I called you down. He-he wanted to go out with me. See a movie or something. I got a little panicky, so when he left I called my Doc, but she didn't answer. But you did and now here we are."

Bruce listens intently, not wanting to interrupt in case there is more for Tony to tell. Tony chews on the inside of his cheek as he ponders how to explain his feelings, having never really been one to do so just three months ago.

"I was worried, I guess. I felt like he was pressuring me into doing something. I mean, I know he did it to be nice. I mean, Jesus, his face turned beet red when I told him no. But when I think of us, together, in a dark room, it just...all flashes back to me. And, and-"

Tony begins tapping his pen against the desk more and more insistently as he talks.

"-And then I think about How-How-_him_. It's just, this cycle of thought. I thought I had had it under control, but I really, really didn't. I mean, Afghanistan was kind of what started my awareness. Of just beginning to realize how fucked up my life had become...It's just. There's so much shit to deal with. So much crap to sift through and analyze. I'm talking life style changes, huge, gigantic life style changes about drinking and sex and work and eating and sleeping. Everything! It's just a mess, Bruce. A big fucking mess."

"I know, Tony. I haven't been through exactly everything you have, but my father...killed my mother after years and years of beating her and me. My anger issues, why the gamma radiation even birthed the Hulk into existence, is because of him. I've done the blame game and the doctors and the pills. I know how hard it is working through your shit. How some things work and others just fail miserably. Really, I do. But you know what, Tony? I know you won't believe me, and that's ok. I didn't believe it the first hundred times I heard it either: I gets better. I really fucking does."

Bruce reaches across the table and holds Tony's hand.

"I know how hard you've been working, Tony. I can see changes in you already. Just since I've been down here, you smiled five times and laughed three. Real smiles too. It may take a while, Tony, but I can't stress enough how worth it to yourself it truly is."

Tony nods determinedly. Fuck, if Bruce with the Other Guy can do this, why the fuck can't he? Now was the time to get his ass in gear. Like seriously.

"Yeah, Bruce. Yeah, ok. It is. Really."

Tony squeezes Bruce's hand in return.

"You're a really, really good guy, Bruce Banner. You know that?"

Bruce's cheeks redden slightly at the praise, but he thanks his friend with the same sincerity Tony gave to him.

"Alright, alright, you've got me all embarrassed now, Stark. Distract me and tell me more about your notes...before my face goes permanently red."

Tony smiles again and this time he realizes it when he's doing it, making him smile more.

"Well, there was this other article that I think has some potential, but she forgot to consider..."


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Tony has a bad day. Natasha tries to help, but Tony's demons make an appearance anyway. This chapter is pretty graphic. This would be a good time to review warnings. This chapter is not nice to Tony.

"Well, Tony, it seems that you and Bruce have become very close these past few weeks. How are you handling it?" Dr. Janine asks.

"That's the thing, Doc, when I'm with Bruce, I don't feel like I need to 'handle' it. It just, sort of happens naturally. I don't think about. We just click. He's someone I can depend on."

Janine smiles. She makes a note in his chart. Positive connections are more important than some people realize.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to call you back yesterday evening. I was in the ER with a patient and couldn't get to my cell. I'm glad to hear that you talked to someone when I was unable to call you back."

Tony shrugs it off like it isn't as big of deal as it is. The old Tony would probably have had a lot to drink and probably called someone over for him to fuck or to fuck him. He would have felt bad about it in the morning and tell himself that he deserved to feel that way. That was just how bad days and bad relationships went, so what use was it to be upset. There would have been wallowing and self-doubt, the cycling thoughts, the urge to do something crazy and perhaps irreversible.

"Tony, I know you've brought this up a few times, and I understand that it's a sore subject, but what are your plans for dealing with Steve in the future? What will you do if Bruce or I cannot help you? Will you be able to help yourself?"

Tony crosses his arm at the question.

"I know how to handle myself," he says with a tone of finality.

"Ok. Would you mind telling me just how you plan on doing so? It's important that we both on the same page with this."

His knee begins to shake as he tries to stall for time. Shit. He had no idea.

"Avoid him, probably? Look, I don't know what you want me to say. He stays away from me unless it's Avengers related—not including last night—and it's not like I can tell him to leave because again, Avengers related. Better to have us in one place for when we assemble, or at least when they assemble since I'm still on the sidelines and everything."

It's a tactic Janine has seen countless times: avoid the question, get angry at not knowing how to answer, turn the blame on someone uninvolved. His accusatory tone is not unexpected. His absense from the team has pretty much been Tony's main bone of contention. On one hand, it's important to get Tony to focus on himself, and not in the dangerously self-indulgent ways of his recent past, but in the healing and confronting his fears kind of way. On the other, his expertise from technological and tactical standpoints is vital to his team. And while there was no way to keep him from building and modifying his gadgets, he hadn't been in his suit for close to eleven weeks.

"I understand why you're upset with me. I'm not keeping you from your team to purposely make you angry, but until I feel that you have a solid safety plan in place that you will stick to, I cannot allow you to return to the Avengers. It is purely for your own safety. Whether you want to believe my reasoning or not is up to you."

"Yeah, that's great. I'm leaving now. I'm tired of bullshit. I've been compliant and open with you about pretty much everything. I don't know what more you want from me here, so I'm going. When you feel like helping me, give me a call."

Tony wishes he could slam the door shut behind him, but the joint over the door prevents him from doing so. He supposes that that is why it's there in the first place.

This time Tony makes his way straight back to the Tower. He doesn't stop at the coffee shop or the bookstore or the park or the track. He doesn't grab a pretzel from a vendor or grab a bouquet of flowers for Pepper. He doesn't have time for any of that shit. He's pissed and good luck to whoever got in his way. Seriously, the first person he saw at the Tower was getting punched in the face. He got into his private elevator hoping it would be Steve.

"Hello Stark."

Natasha. Ok, so maybe face punching was a bad idea.

"Hi."

She looks up from her magazine at his tone of voice. Concern furrowing her brow a bit, eyes attentive to his movements.

"Bad day?"

"The worst."

She nods and takes a sip of her tea. He's not sure whether she's waiting for him to keep talking or if confirmation is the only thing she was looking for. It kind of makes him nervous, and he's not sure why.

"Relax, Stark. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. I'm just making sure that you're ok."

Tony lets out a sigh of relief.

"Oh. Ok. Thanks for asking then."

Silence settles again, and he feels like he should be filling it with chatter like he normally would. Only this time, he can't think of a single thing to say. Before he could have teased and hypothesized and thought aloud with no trouble. Now, it seemed as if there was nothing worth saying. Like he didn't have to play the part of happy-go-lucking chatterbox anymore, and now he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. Or if there even was something.

Natasha lets out a small sigh.

"You need something to take your edge off."

"Don't worry about me. Everything's fine," he lies.

"It wasn't a question, Stark. Come on. I know just the thing."

"What are you gonna do to me? Do I need to leave a note? Is this...Are you going to kill me, or...what exactly? I mean, I trust you and all, but our ideas of blowing off steam and having fun are probably very different."

Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Just trust me. It's physical, it's flashy, and it's a little bit dangerous, depending on how you play, that is."

"Play?"

"Yes. And you might want to change your clothes. I'd suggest wearing all black."

The coordinator is calling out the player's names of who ranked in the top three, and BlackWidow is in first place by a long shot. Surprisingly, IronMan is number nine. Not bad for a first time, actually.

"Laser tag. Who would have thought?"

Natasha smiles at him, a bit sweaty but happy to see that he is happy.

"I told you that you'd like it, Stark. I find it very cathartic. It gets a lot of energy out and no one gets hurt...usually."

They talk as they walk to sign up for the next game.

"Maybe if you hadn't used that kid as a human shield, he wouldn't have kicked you. In the shins. Repeatedly."

She shrugs as if to say, that's the way of the game.

"You know, this is the most fun I've had in a while. Although, I think it's kind of cheating for a master assassin to be up against a hoard of twelve-year-olds. But that's just me."

"You're just mad that I beat you. And that I'm going to do it again."

"Oh, is that so? Well, why don't we make this a little more interesting. I win, you have to call me Lord Stark for a week. And if you win, I'll—."

"Let me have a go in the suit."

"What? No. No way."

Natasha folds her arms. Because how many chances does someone get to fly in the Iron Man suit?

"Fine, fine. It's a deal."

They shake on it. Tony loses miserably, and Natasha gets to see New York in style.

Tony tosses his black shirt, black pants, and black socks in the direction of the hamper and opts for pyjamas instead. For the first time in a while, the adrenalin he had felt coursing through his body was not a fight-or-flight trigger, but for play. When was the last time he played anything?

It's certainly been a while. And what made the day even more fun was that it was Natasha's idea, of all people. Had they ever done anything like that? Tony didn't think so. But that just made it more awesome. He hadn't even minded—much—about the fact that she won their little bet. It was pretty cool to see Natasha soaring and dipping and diving in the air as if she had done it thousands of times. She was shaky at first, sure, but after a little tutelage from himself and Jarvis, she picked it up in no time.

Tony gets ready for bed, as per the routine he established with the Doc goes, the glow of the afternoon begins to fade. It's not like he didn't have fun today because he really, truly did. But he can't help but dwell on his morning appointment. What safety plan did he need anyway? Steve was a trigger, sure, but did that mean he was dangerous? Why wasn't Steve the one seeing a shrink. He's the pervert who fucked his dad and vice versa.

He climbs into bed and huddles under the covers.

Had their entire relationship been founded on an illusion? The illusion Steve had that he was his father? Obviously Steve knew nothing of his childhood trauma or he wouldn't have said anything...Right? Everyone told him he looked so much like his dad. Even Obie.

Obie had always been supportive. Until he tried to kill Tony a few times. Or until Howard would let Obie watch Tony blow him sometimes. Or Howard would watch Tony blow Obie. They told him he was making them happy and proud and that one day, he would be great like them.

He was already a hundred times a hundred times better than they were. He tries to remind himself of that. Tries to force himself to believe it. Like maybe if he says it enough times he'll believe it. If he can convince himself that letting Obie touch him was alright, then he can convince himself out of it. At least he hopes so.

Sometimes they would make him like it, even when he didn't want to. Obie or Howard would put him on their lap and he would feel them under him. They would tell him he was a good boy and that he deserved to feel good because Tony made them feel good. They would touch him and kiss him, tell him how good he was. He didn't know it was bad until it was too late.

Tony hugs a pillow to his chest as the memories flow back to him. He's ashamed by the erection they give him sometimes. It's not like he wants it or thinks that what happened to him is ok, but his body is still so hardwired...For fucks sake, Obie fucked him all the way up until his return from Afghanistan. Obie had said they could both feel good. He was even nice enough to let Tony lay on his back this time because his chest was still tender. Obie had made him come.

Tony can't help the hand he lets wander down to his groin. He feels sick, but the pressure in balls is uncomfortable, and his erection isn't going away no matter how much he wants it to. He jacks himself and tries to think of anything else.

Pepper sucking him off. When they were together, it had been a surprise birthday gift. She even swallowed. He remembers enjoying returning the favor.

His Sandy and Mandy three-way. The twins from the Christmas cover. They were a lot of fun.

Obie in his mouth. Filling his throat with flesh and come.

_Fuck no, no. Keep focused. Got to keep focused._

Going down on Lila. She was his first. They met in high school. She was pretty and smart. He remembered enjoying the time they had dated.

Steve calling him Howard.

_No, no, no. Please god no._

He lets go of his dick and tries to calm his breathing. His dick twitches against his stomach. He gets an idea. He feels bad for doing it, but Jesus, anything to make this stop.

He thinks of Bruce as he wraps him hand around himself again. The thinks of how gentle and kind Bruce is around him. He thinks of Bruce's smile, his voice telling him that it was ok, that he was ok. That it was ok to come. Bruce would tell him not to feel guilty for coming. Coming was supposed to feel good, and Bruce would want him to feel so, so good. Bruce would run his fingers through his hair and tell him that he was doing so well, trying so hard. But that he could let go now. It was ok to let go. It was ok to feel good.

White paints his stomach and chest, and for once, it actually does feel good. The shame disappeared, for however brief of a moment in time.

Tony cries himself to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: Tony backslides. This chapter has the potential to be triggering.

It should have come as no surprise when the Avengers are called in for a debriefing for their next assignment. Tony is invited to come since it's important to keep him apprised of his team's activities. Bonding and trust are very important qualities that SHIELD—top secret government organization—prides itself on. It's almost worse to have to show up knowing that the only way he will be able to contribute is asking Rhodey to fill in for him and to provide whatever tech they ask for or need. Fury gives him the file with the basic rundown and is asked to leave.

"The less you know about this, the less trouble you're putting yourself in, Stark," Fury reasons, going on the assumption that the baddie will ignore the fact that Tony is on the Avengers simply because he's been out of commission for nigh on three months.

Yeah, right.

But arguing with Fury is pointless since he holds his fate in his hands, and he knows Janine told him how Tony walked out without any plans of returning any time soon. His chances of ever suiting up again were slim, so it didn't make sense to fight him on it. He just did not have the energy to argue today. Not after the past few nights he has been having.

A car was waiting for him outside of SHIELD headquarters, and he was more than a little disappointed that Happy wasn't the one doing the driving. He shouldn't be surprised though,since Happy was in California or something and he was in New York, and _it was really time to start getting it together, Tony. _It's hard for Tony to focus today, so he tries not to think about things like his friends being across the country or fighting off the bad guys or Pepper being in Rome with her mother for her birthday or anniversary or some other important occasion that he couldn't remember. It's hard to focus on anything positive when it feels like there is nothing positive to focus on.

The flashbacks have been becoming more aggressive lately, and that's probably due to his lack of sleep and concentration, which is probably due to skipping his medications and drinking alcohol again. He had been charting his progress every day, but more and more often recently he was giving his days threes and twos when two weeks ago he was feeling the occasional seven. The chart made him angry because he was falling behind again, exactly like he knew he would, so what was the point of keeping track anymore?

He pops open another beer and tries to get comfortable on his plush chaise lounge before reviewing the information Fury had provided him with. He reads the file with a critical eye, scanning the pages for useful information, planning ahead what his team would need, regardless of how he was feeling about himself that day. The first page was the rundown; followed by known allies and aliases; past attempts, successes, and failures; as well as past victims and survivors from said attackers.

From what Tony could gather, the "bad guy" was less of a bad guy and more of an ambassador from a realm Thor had probably mentioned before. The ruler had managed to contact the Pentagon a few weeks ago and they had in turn, passed the responsibility over to the experts: SHIELD. It wasn't the strategic homeland intervention enforcement and logistics division for nothing. Thor would, of course, be more than capable of handling the diplomatic graces that went with demigod meeting demigod. Steve would be the perfect advocate for the stars and bars. Clint and Natasha would be their bodyguards, both providing answers to any cultural questions in the several languages they both knew fluently. Come to think of it, Bruce would even be able to contribute on that front as well. How perfect would it be to show this king the "gentle giant" with the heart of gold, willing to sacrifice himself for the betterment of humanity.

Tony suddenly feels guilty for thinking that. A gnawing begins in his stomach that reminds him he was being completely unfair, especially after all Bruce had been doing for him, since they had met even. There was a reason Clint fondly calls them The Science Bros. Tony lets out a huff; sometimes it was difficult to remember not to pass his anger off on someone who didn't deserve it. Hell, he had been doing that to himself for decades now.

Of course it wasn't Bruce's fault. It was his, Tony's. If he hadn't freaked out on Steve or if he had just been able to hide his freakout or if he had refused to see Fury, then none of this would be happening. What happened to him was ages ago. He knew he should be over it by now. It was his own fault that he wasn't.

And how difficult would it have been to ask Howard and Obie to not bother him anymore? Sure he had said "no" countless times, but he had never sat down with them and told them why he didn't like it or why he wanted it to stop. They were smart. They would have understood. They probably thought him saying "no" was being playful. They had always laughed when he had said it. And when they stopped laughing, whoever he was with would pull out a handkerchief and wipe his eyes and tell him to, "Calm down. It's almost over."

On one hand, Tony knew that that was utterly crazy thinking. On another, the logic almost made sense. He had been an incredibly bright child, inventing and creating while other kids were playing with Legos or action figures, so he should have seen a way out. He could have prevented it, if he had really been trying. But he wanted the attention. And Howard and Obie always gave him plenty of attention.

Maybe if he had gotten the kind of attention Bruce gives him, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. He slams the file shut and takes it to his industrial shredder. Better to keep all information as inaccessible as possible, in his opinion. It was nobody else's business and Fury wouldn't want him to be careless, so destroying it seemed like the best choice. There is something both satisfying and menacing as he listens to the razors shred the papers into neat lines until the second set of blades sliced those shreds into more shreds.

Wonderfully smooth, Perfectly ordered. Structured chaos. The sounds the slip-slide of steel over steel made. The pieces made smaller and smaller until they could no longer be called sheets, but ribbons. Ribbons torn from a whole, information made unrecognizable as it was clawed to bits. The message unreadable. Tony couldn't even imagine the time it would take to put it all back together. To be able to see what the mess was trying to tell him. And if he did, there would probably be sections completely missing, whole chunks absent. There would be cracks between the words as tape and glue pieced it back together. He would have to sift through the old text to make sure he was picking the right pieces, starting over when he messed up. Throwing out what he didn't need, writing in what he did.

Tony lifts the shredder part off of the garbage can so he can shove his arms deep into the collection of dismembered expositions. He catches words and phrases, but never whole sentences. The complete thoughts are out of reach, and suddenly, he desperately wants to know what the fragments are trying to tell him. He digs in a bit deeper, just his legs are sticking out of the can. Below the surface, more shreds and more letters and more tantalizing bits flutter past him. Burrowing further in, he wriggles until he's completely submerged in the frayed paper. He falls down onto a bed of paper that crunches and sighs beneath his weight. When he looks up, far, far up, he can see into his office. Tony's happy to find he still has his beer in his hand, it's empty. He's confused, and so, so thirsty.

And ouch. His hands are covered in paper-cuts. He's bleeding. He's staining all this fine white paper with red. Paper-cuts don't normally hurt as much this. Jesus, the sting is getting unbearable. He watches the red spread over his palms and drip down his arms and to the papery floor. He suddenly feels very dizzy. Why is he dizzy?

"Oh my god, Tony!" he hears a voice yell. It sounds far away. Like it's coming from the office above him.

The pain is really setting in now. He wishes that whoever is yanking him back would stop.

"Tony, what did you do?!"

_Clint? What is he doing here? How did he get in the garbage can with him?_

"Tony, your hands. Your hands are bleeding. You have to go to the hospital. I'm calling 9-1-1."

_Why do I need to go to the hospital? I'm fine. I just want to look at the paper._

"Tony, stop!"

He's yanked back again.

_Jesus, Clint is strong_.

He hears Clint walk away for a moment and the sound of the shredder turns off. It immediately shakes Tony out of his reverie.

He's in his office. With Clint. Who is calling 9-1-1 for some reason. Where did the paper world go? He remembers paper cuts. There must have been a lot of them for his hands to hurt this badly. He looks down to check.

_Oh my god._

Not paper-cuts.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey Tony? Tony, can you hear me?"

The voice calling his name is familiar. It's coming to him as if through a fog. He wants to open his eyes, but it's just so nice to be catching up on his missed sleep. If he sleeps, he can avoid things like Steve and doctors and therapists and medicine and Fury, and goddamn his hands are _throbbing_. He opens his eyes to ask for help and finds himself in a sterile, white room.

The voice—Bruce, it turns out to be—breathes a sigh of relief. He's sitting in a chair next to his bed, and it looks like he's been there a while.

"Tony? Tony, you're in the hospital. You had a really bad...accident."

Even to Tony's hazy head, the word 'accident' sounds hesitant. But he knows Bruce can only be referring to what happened to him—hours? days?—ago. He remembers drinking and skipping meds and taking a few doses he had missed all at once. He has a vague recollection of wanting to see inside the paper shredder, and then Clint showing up and shouting at him. Maybe that's why Clint was shouting. Fuck, he stuck his hands in a goddamn paper shredder. They even have the tiny picture warning on the machine of a hand inside a circle with a line through it. Jesus.

"Bruce?"

"You had surgery, Tony. They had to sew up the gashes on hands. You're lucky you didn't lose any fingers, though that was a close one. There was nerve damage, but Dr. Wakowski felt pretty confident that that would return to almost normal eventually."

Tony looks down and see both of his hands wrapped up in bandages twice as thick as his hands by themselves. They're elevated on pillows, so his venous outflow must be slow. Tony wonders what kind of peripheral vasodilators and an anticoagulants he's on. He'll try to remember to ask his doctors or Bruce later.

"How long have I been here?"

"You had your surgery yesterday afternoon. It's 10:45 in the morning right now. You woke a few times yesterday evening and today, but you were so out of it, they wanted to keep you until you were more lucid."

Geez, he doesn't even remembering being conscious after he heard Clint talking to an operator. He must have passed out from the shock and the blood loss.

"Look, I have to ask, as your friend. Did this happen on purpose? Do you-do you hurt yourself?"

Bruce looks like it makes him physically ill to have to ask, as if he doesn't want to seem like he's betraying his friend or thinking less of him. Tony knows that Bruce knows what it's like to want to end it. Both of them have come close more often than they would care to acknowledge. This is painful for the both of them.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," he rasps, voice tired from disuse. Bruce holds a cup to his lips, and he swallows the water greedily before finishing his answer. "I remember catching up on some dosages I missed, and I treated myself to some beer to spite Doc, which only ended up biting me in the ass. But did I subconsciously want this to happen? I don't know."

Bruce rubs a hand over his face.

"Ok, Tony. I'm choosing to believe what you're telling me here. I want to trust you. I really do. But I will be checking you for marks when they clear you this afternoon. I have to see it to believe it, Tony. I need to know that this was a one-time misjudgment and not a common occurrence that got further out of control."

Tony feels his eyes prick with tears. He's never heard Bruce sound so sad before. Not since he talked about his attempt to take his own life. And this mess he's in now is not helping either of them get past their respective pasts. They are on a one step forward, three steps back kind of road. He nods because he has to let Bruce know that they are on the same page, that this is a setback, but not a reason to stop trying.

Bruce gets some tissue from the bathroom and perches himself on the edge of Tony's bed. He carefully wipes the tears from his eyes and holds up a wad to his nose and tells him to blow. If he wasn't feeling so shitty in so many different ways, he probably would have made a joke, which is a testament to just how awful a place he's in.

"What am I going to do with you?" Bruce asks sadly.

Tony feels fresh waves of guilt wash over him, and his throat thickens again. Bruce must notice though because he gets up again, walking over to a small backpack in the corner and takes out a hairbrush, tooth brush, and tooth paste.

"Since you're a little incapacitated, I'm volunteering to help you keep clean and healthy, if you want me to. If it's too...personal, I'm sure we could find someone you'd be more comfortable with."

He shakes his head. "Want you, Bruce."

Bruce nods his assent and picks up the hair brush first, which makes Tony aware of his bedhead and makes him just that much more grateful that Bruce came prepared.

"Now, I don't know how to use your gels and blow-dryers and whatever else you use, so you're gonna have to bear with me. You'll be going casual for a while."

He passes the bristles through Tony's hair, careful not to yank on tangles or mess up his natural part. And just like everything else Bruce does, he's gentle and careful and soothing, and he feels like he could fall asleep again, even though he doesn't want to sleep. He wants to be with Bruce. When he's done, Bruce looks him over to check his work and brushes a tiny piece he missed.

"Let's do your teeth, while I'm at it. I hope you like peppermint paste. Oh, and the store even had an Iron Man toothbrush."

Bruce gets a small bed pan from a shelf in the room and Tony's cup of water. He unwraps the new toothbrush and squirts a bit of paste onto the brush, wetting it to get it to stick.

"Open up?"

Tony obliges, and god does it feel weird to have someone else do this. It's one thing to have a dentist and another thing to have a friend do it, no matter how close one may be with them. Bruce holds the pan up for him to spit and rinse, his mouth feeling the minty freshness the tube promised him. It's amazing how having these small necessities taken care of can make a person feel more human and decent and clean.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

A beat.

"Do you know when I'm being discharged today?"

"Dr. Wakowski said he would be by around noon with your papers and discharge plan, and a medication list. Medications that can't be skipped."

Bruce's warning is heard and understood. Tony wonders how he's going to keep them all straight, but he's sure two geniuses can figure something out. And he's always got Jarvis for any of his programming needs.

"I'm tired, Bruce."

Bruce runs his fingers through Tony's hair, easing him back down onto his pillows. He doesn't want to jar Tony too much since his hands must still be hurting him. Tony closes his eyes when he does that, so he strokes his hair until he falls back asleep. It may just be an hour more of rest before the doctor comes back to consult with them, but it's time Tony needs. If he could, Bruce would take away all of Tony's pain and sadness. He knows he can't and knows it's foolish to tease himself with the _what if_s, so instead he plays with Tony's hair, noticing the way he sighs and unconsciously moves his head to press against his hand. It's not much, but if it makes Tony happy, there's no real reason to stop.

Happy picks Tony and Bruce up from the hospital at two in the afternoon. Happy, who was called in from California to chauffeur Tony around again due to his track record of discretion regarding Tony, is just relieved to know that Tony is ok. Or is going to be ok. He's also glad that he was trusted enough to be called in in the first place when they could have hired anyone or maybe even get someone from SHIELD involved. Tony assures him that Happy is and always will be the better option. So Happy smiles and opens the door for Tony and his friend Bruce, who seems like a real nice guy, and drives them back to the tower. There's even a floor just for him.

"Would you feel more comfortable sleeping on your floor or my floor?" Bruce asks when they get home.

"Your floor," he answers, perhaps a bit too quickly.

There are too many memories, some very recent, that he would rather not be reminded of, so a break on Bruce's floor is greatly appreciated. They move some of Tony's clothes, toiletries, and other necessities to Bruce's room, where Tony immediately (and carefully) crawls onto the bed, burrows under the covers, and settles himself in to get ready for sleep. Bruce hates to disturb him, but Tony's already forgetting some important steps.

"Tony? I know you're tired, but you've gotta take your pills. And we need to prop your hands up to keep your circulation regular."

"Mmmmph, Bruce, later," Tony says from under the covers.

Bruce sits on the side of the bed and pulls the covers away from his face to look him in the eye.

"Tony, please. I want to help you, but you've gotta _let_ me help you."

Tony sighs and nods his head, understanding but not happy about it. Not happy about anything really. He watches as Bruce pulls out his anti-anxiety, depression, pain, and peripheral vasodilators pills and a syringe and a tourniquet with his bottle heparin. Bruce shakes four pills out and gets a large glass of water from his bathroom. He helps Tony take them, and he swallows them down with a grimace. Tony has to think of his small blessings though: Bruce is a doctor, so he doesn't have to get a stranger to come to his home to do this for him. The tourniquet is tight, but he tries not to grimace this time.

"This is going to sting."

But really, can it hurt him more than he's already hurting?

The needle sticks him in the muscle and Bruce tells him he'll be back in a few hours for his next dose, but to worry about him going far. Tony nods again and closes his eyes to sleep. Bruce makes a mental note to get Tony some cold packs for his head and hands in the hopes of alleviating some pressure and pain in both. Bruce waits until Tony's breath evens out before entering his floor's main living room.

The rest of the team is congregated there, waiting for him. Clint and Natasha are sitting on the edge of the couch, poised for action if necessary. Thor stands, pacing about the room and crackling the air around him with electricity. He sees Steve on the fringe of the room, barely through the doorway, trying and failing to make himself small and inconspicuous. They all turn to face him. They're looking to him for guidance, which is more than a little nerve-wracking. Bruce is rarely the one to be in the leadership position, preferring instead to leave it to people who wanted the job or who could do a better job. Usually Tony or Steve. But with the two of them out of commission, the job had fallen to him.

"He's going to be fine," Bruce began.

There is a collective sigh of relief.

"Physically. Mentally...is touch and go at best. He mentioned arguing with his doctor and skipping his meds and falling back into his old habits in general. Which his doctor believes is what triggered his disassociative episode."

Bruce pauses, unsure of how to continue. His friends look devastated. Especially Steve. Bruce sighs, takes off his glasses, and scrubs his face to give him some time to calm himself.

"Steve?"

Steve's head snaps up, looking at Bruce in fear. He's almost certain he's about to be asked to leave, and rightfully so.

"While I can't say that your actions were particularly wise, you can't keep beating yourself up. This was all going to come about sooner or later, and probably sooner given how quickly this all escalated. What Tony needs is our support and punishing yourself isn't going to help anyone."

_Nice, Banner. Take your own advice once in a while..._

To the rest of the team, he says, "Tony won't be able to use his hands to full capacity for at the least three months. He has to know we want to help him and that he's not a burden on us. He has to believe in us and himself or else I'm not sure what he'll do."

He pauses again to let the gravity really sink in. He swallows past the lump that's growing in his throat. He remembers how that bullet tasted.

"Of course we will, Bruce. It's been awful not having him on missions or making cool stuff or even just being Tony. It-It sucks," Clint responds.

"You can me in as well, Doctor. We all want to see Anthony get back on his feet," Thor pledges.

"Stark may be an ass, but I sure as hell have missed having him around. Whatever it takes, Bruce, you've got my word that I'll help," Natasha promises.

All eyes turn to Steve.

"Anything. I'll do anything."

Bruce sighs in relief. It's not as if he was expecting any dissent, but it sure is good to hear everyone confirm it.

"Ok then. I'll take the first watch. Be there if he needs anything," Bruce says.

They nod and volunteer for their own time slots for the night. Bruce goes back into Tony's room to find him fast asleep. The worry lines of his face seem less severe, his mouth in less of a frown. He looks almost peaceful. Bruce settles down into a cushy armchair near Tony's bed, ready to jump up if he needs anything at all.

"Good night, Bruce," Tony murmurs sleepily, eyes still closed.

"Good night, Tony."


	8. Chapter 8

Steve watches everyone step up to help take care of Tony. And he's so glad to see his team working together off the battlefield as well as in it. He mulls over Bruce's words of not beating himself up over the past. He understands the need to leave his past mistakes behind him in favor of making progress in the future. Easier said then done. While everyone falls into rolls they are comfortable with filling in nursing Toby back to health, Steve is more hesitant to do anything. Out of anxiety or shame, he couldn't say. He would try to talk to Bruce for some advice or reassurance, but he, as well as the rest of the team, is busy with more important things. Steve knows and accepts that he lies pretty low on the totem poll.

It's when Coulson stops by to do his weekly check-in with Tony and the team that the light bulb goes off in his head. Coulson has offered on a few occasions to mediate between members of the team, as well as lending an ear to those who need it. Steve decides he might as well take advantage of his offer. He doesn't exactly feel like he has the right to ask anyone on the team for help when they're so busy trying to correct his errors.

Phil has sort of commandeered an office in Avengers Tower when he drops by, which provides him and his visitors with some much needed and appreciated privacy. Phil stops by at a time that day that coincides with Tony's nap, so he lets his presence be known, and the team slips into a mode of being too polite to notice if anyone chose to speak with Phil. Steve slips quietly from his spot at the kitchen table and hits the elevator's button for Phil's floor. He isn't sure what he wants—or needs—to say yet, but he figures that Phil won't pressure him.

The elevator ride doesn't feel like nearly enough time to prepare himself, but he's soon stepping out and walking down the hall, knuckles rapping on the door.

"Come in," Phil calls.

With a few seconds' hesitation, Steve opens the door. Phil looks up from his work, a little surprised to see him. Steve has never come to him before.

"Hi, Steve. Do you want to sit down?"

Steve nods and takes a seat in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs in front of Phil's desk. It feels like he's in the principal's office, there to confess to his crime. It's not a feeling he enjoys.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

"I-I feel like a lot if this Tony business is my fault. And I'm not sure how to fix it, or if it's even possible to do that."

"What makes you think this is your fault?"

Steve's face reddens in shame and embarrassment. It was hard enough telling the team what had had happened, but telling _Phil_? He has no idea where to begin.

"Well, Tony and I are-were-seeing each other. And it was great. Really great. We were even...intimate. I'll just say this about what I did: I thought he had known about Howard and I, and I found out the hard way that he didn't. It destroyed him. He started seeing a doctor and taking pills and avoiding me like the plague because I triggered him into remembering terrible, awful things about Howard and someone named Stane. I don't know the whole story, and I'm not sure I would want to. I do know that I made a huge mistake, and now Tony is suffering the consequences.

I didn't come here to be placated or told it wasn't my fault. Because it very much was. I started all of this. I want to know if there's something I can do to make it better, even if that means being located to another team or removed from SHIELD entirely. Please just tell me what to do."

Phil waits patiently for Steve to finish his piece, assumes that it had taken a lot of guts and swallowing of pride to admit something so negative about oneself. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Steve was being completely genuine when he said he would leave if asked to. It would kill him, but he was obviously willing to do whatever it took to ensure Tony's welfare, even if it meant learning how to survive the future on his own, spending the rest of his days scraping up a living as he coped with a world he did not know. It was his selfless wish to do good, to do better by Tony that made Phil believe that perhaps some things could be salvaged, at least by way of being teammates. While Phil knew Tony's background nearly completely, it was clear that Steve did not, and whatever he had said to Tony that set him off, Steve obviously felt remorse for it.

"Have you tried talking to him?"

"I don't want to talk to him if he doesn't want to talk to me. I want to respect his boundaries and do whatever he wants me to do."

"Bruce is a good buffer. I'm sure he will make time for you. And I'm sure knows how much this is eating you up. Maybe talking to him would be a better option."

Steve nods his head solemnly. He sort of had a feeling Coulson would say something like that. He supposes he needed to hear it from someone else, just as a reassurance.

He starts to get up to leave.

"How are you holding up otherwise?"

Steve rubs the back of his neck, sitting back down in his chair.

"Pretty terribly. I feel like I don't really belong here with everyone else. They're all helping and running errands and doing things for Tony, and I'm just sort of there, trying to stay invisible while I try to figure out how to make things right again."

"Has anyone told you that they want you to leave?"

"No, but they don't have to. I know they're blaming me for all of this."

"Have they told you that they blame you?"

"They haven't really said anything to me. They've been taking care of Tony, or having me run errands when one of them can't leave or has to work or something."

"If they haven't asked you to leave, and they haven't been blaming you for what happened, then why do you think they think those things? Don't you think they're more concerned with Tony's well-being than whether or not you said some stupid things three months ago? They have more immediate concerns than your guilt, Rogers. If you want to help, help. If you want to leave, leave. But by God, make a decision because I'm sure they're tired of tiptoeing around you, and you're tired of tiptoeing around them. This is your chance to do something, so don't blow it."

Steve blinks in surprise. It was unexpected, but definitely refreshing, to have someone tell it to him straight. Jesus, when Phil said it, it made perfect sense. Now was not the time to be pussyfooting around. He had wasted so much time feeling sorry for himself when Tony needed him.

"You're right, Phil. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being so-"

"Selfish?"

"Yeah. Thanks for listening to me though. I guess I needed to have someone tell it to me straight."

"Any time, Captain. That's why I come here every now and then. Keep you Avengers in line."

Steve does get up from his chair this time. He extends his hand.

"And you certainly do."

Coulson graciously accepts Steve's proffered hand. It's amazing how such a small gesture can mean so much.

Steve leaves Phil's office with a feeling of purpose, more focused than he has felt in months. It's a proactive feeling. One where he believes that he actually can do better than he has been doing. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket as he walks back to the elevator. He gets Bruce's machine.

"Hey, Bruce. It's Steve. I know you're on an assignment right now, but I wanted to call you. I've been a jerk lately, and I'm really sorry about that. I'm ready to get into gear and do what needs to be done. Maybe we could talk in person when you're not so busy? That would be great. Call me back when you can. Bye."

Steve was glad that Tony had taught him how to leave voicemails because that one was important, and it sounded really good.


	9. Chapter 9

Pepper checks her phone when she steps out of her meeting, expecting the phone calls and emails that go along with being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. And there are plenty of those, which she plans to answer as soon as Happy picks her up to take her back to Malibu. An unfamiliar car pulls up, and that is Pepper's first clue that something is not right. Then a stranger opens the door for her and asks her where she needs to go. She pulls her phone out again, looking for Tony's name on her missed calls list and is even more alarmed when she sees Bruce's number. She plays her voicemail and can barely listen after the words, "Tony's been in an accident."

Had she bothered to check her phone the previous day, should would have been home much, much sooner. Listening further into the message, Bruce tells her, "Tony's in surgery and-" The rest of the message no longer matters. She needs to get ahold of Bruce immediately. Luckily it's only three rings before he picks up.

"Pepper?"

She doesn't miss a beat.

"Bruce, please tell me that he's ok."

"He's...well, I wouldn't say 'ok,' but he made it through the surgery just fine. He's resting now, but I'm sure when he wakes, he'll want to see you. Is your conference over?"

"Yes, of course, I'm on my way to the airport now. I'm assuming that you have Happy as well?"

"Yeah, Tony asked for him. We flew him out yesterday while Tony was recovering from the anesthesia. The hospital had him spend the night. Happy picked us up this morning to take him home. He needed someone he knew he could trust."

"Bruce, what _happened_? I thought he was making some real progress."

Bruce sighs as he tries to find a way to explain.

"He had a fight with his therapist. Said he's been having flashbacks, and he didn't like the way she was dealing with his feelings and keeping him from working. Jarvis said he had been off his medications and drinking again. I thought I had been keeping a better eye on him, but I was out of the Tower one day and Fury told him again that he was barred from our next mission, and I guess the poor guy couldn't take it. Clint is the one who found him. There-there was a paper shredder involved."

Flashbacks? About Steve? Something else. Had to be. Tony had been evasive when she had tried to bring it up a couple of weeks ago. But now might be a good time to get to the bottom of things, help him recover from whatever demons were keeping him up at night.

Pepper is silent on her end of the line, contemplating what to say, the right words to say were escaping her. Bruce can't blame her. He isn't sure how to get the words out after that either. About the blood that stained the carpet and Clint finding him, Clint's eyes looking haunted, his own past triggered at the sight of all the blood. How was he supposed to tell Pepper that he still wasn't sure Tony hadn't done this on purpose or whether, if not on purpose, he was being reckless and simply didn't care about possible outcomes that would stem from his recklessness.

"I-I'm sorry, Pepper."

Again, Bruce doesn't hear anything from her, other than what sounds like a stifled sob. Bruce, too, is at a loss. He feels partially responsible here. He had an idea of what Tony was going through, based simply off of his own past, but still. He should have known. Should have been aware that Tony was getting more and more careless.

God, right now he needs her to _say something_.

"Pepper?"

"I'm still here, Bruce. I just-(a mirthless laugh)-I don't know what to say. Or, at this point, what to do. I've known Tony for years. And he's made a lot of stupid, rash decisions...I wish I could say I was surprised. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak."

Her car pulls up to the curb in front of the airport. A five hour flight back to New York. The driver, Michael, opens the door for her and gets her bags. She'll have to board soon, and phone calls were off limits on planes anyway.

"Bruce, I have to go. My flight-"

"It's ok," he interrupts. "I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you this when you got back, but I felt that this was too important to not tell you. Tony's with me now. One of us is by his side all day. Natasha's with him now. I promise we're taking care of him."

She knows what Bruce is trying to do: soothe her while she's up in the air for five hours with nothing but her thoughts and worries to keep her company. His gesture is kind, even if it falls flat. She's sure he's under a ton of pressure. If she feels this way having only known for half an hour, she can only imagine how he's feeling after two days. She's a bit comforted, though, by the fact that Tony is in such capable, caring hands. He'll need that.

"I know you are. I know you all are." She grabs her bag in a slightly shaking hand as she walks into the airport. "We're going to need to talk when I get back."

"Of course, yes."

She imagines him nodding profusely, anything to keep her calm in such a tumultuous situation.

A TSA agent is giving her the eye for being on her cell phone.

"I have to go, Bruce."

He can hear boarding calls being announced in the background. She must be inside the building and probably has to be checked in and scanned now.

"I'll be here when you get back...Stay safe." The "_Tony needs you_," goes unspoken.

"Good-bye. I'll see you soon."

Not soon enough.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony wakes up sixteen hours after Bruce and Happy bring him home from the hospital feeling groggy and achy in several uncomfortable places. His hands, head, and stomach throb. He can't remember the last time he ate anything remotely substantial. Maybe four—five?—days ago. But there had also been a lot of alcohol involved as well, so that probably didn't even count. Maybe Bruce would make him breakfast. He wasn't supposed to take his medications on an empty stomach anyway. He turns his head to the side of the bed he knows Bruce has been sitting in for nearly the past week; he's sleeping. He debates whether or not he should wake him. His growling stomach decides for him.

"Bruce?"

Bruce's eyes snap open immediately.

"Hey, Tony. Are you ok? Do you need something?"

Tony smiles tiredly. It's kind of sweet to see him so flustered over him. Like he actually really, really cares about what happens to him. He can't say that he's seen that genuine of a look on many people.

"Breakfast?"

His throat is scratchy, but he manages to get his message across.

"Of course. Do you know what you might want?"

Tony frowns. The idea of making decisions is terribly unappealing. And anyway, his throat hurts. He shrugs. Hopefully Bruce will know he wants something light and filling, like eggs and toast or cereal or something.

"That's ok. I know what you'll like. Let me just have Clint come in while I whip something up for you."

Bruce pulls out his phone and shoots off a text. Clint comes in a few minutes later. He comes in on Bruce helping Tony drink a glass of water, and probably his pills. His bottles line the night table Bruce has by his bed.

"Hey Stark," he says non-threateningly, sitting down in Bruce's arm chair and making himself comfortable.

"Hey Clint."

Clint nods to Bruce and he walks out the door to go make Tony some scrambled eggs and buttered toast. Maybe a glass of orange juice if Tony is feeling particularly hungry.

"You...doing ok today?" Clint asks hesitantly.

"I've been better." It's the first time he's been honest about his feelings in a while. It's going to take some getting used to, this not-lying. Trusting again. Coping.

"We—I was really worried about you. Still am. When Jarvis said you were in your office, I didn't know what I'd be walking in on."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged any of you into this. I wasn't expecting anyone to find me. I wasn't even sure what had happened to me until you showed up. I was drunk and depressed and didn't have a rational thought in my head. I'm just...sorry."

"Tony, none of this is your fault. You don't have to apologize to me. Just promise me that I won't have to find another billionaire who's willing to house five janked superheros and feed us and give us cool tech and be one of my friends and allies. Promise me that none of us will have to do this without you."

Tony takes a moment to consider his words. It's touching, in Clint's own way. Stark, honest, truthful. There's not a hint of anger or malice in his voice.

"I promise," he responds, with more conviction in his words than he has had in them in a long time.

Clint reaches out and squeezes his bicep, hand warm and comforting.

Bruce comes in with a tray of steaming food and a tall glass of juice.

"Everything alright in here?" he questions, worry creeping into his voice.

Clint looks over to Tony before answering, "I think it will be. Stark just needs to eat something. Nothing like food to soothe the soul, if you ask me."

Tony lets out a bit of a snort. Clint and his food.

Bruce sets the tray over Tony's lap.

"Do you mind helping him eat? Pepper said she wanted to talk with Steve and I now that she's settled in."

Tony sits up quickly.

"Pepper's here? Why didn't anyone tell me? I need to see her. _Now_, Bruce."

"Her plane landed two night ago. You've barely been awake since then. I called her shortly after you got out of surgery. I know you want to see her, but right now, you need to eat something. I need to fill her in on what's been going on, and then I'll send her right down to you."

Tony gives him a murderous look.

"I promise, Tony. I won't keep her from you. Clint will stay with you. If you need anything, let one of us know, ok?"

Tony refuses to answer. He settles back down against Bruce's pillows, crossing his arms over his chest with a wince. He uncrosses his hands when the pressure of having them tucked and bent hurts too much.

Bruce sighs and turns to Clint again. "I'll be down soon. Make sure he eats everything. We don't want his body rejecting the medications because his stomach is empty."

When Bruce leaves, Clint picks up the fork Bruce has laid out on a napkin.

"I don't suppose you'll eat this?"

Tony sighs in resignation.

"I have to. But I'm not putting that in my mouth without some ketchup on it."

Luckily, Bruce left a bottle of Heinz in the corner of the tray. Tony begrudgingly admits that Bruce knows him better than he thought.

Two nights ago, Bruce picks Pepper up from the airport at eleven o'clock in the evening. To say she was upset was an understatement. It was obvious that she had tried to keep it together for the plane ride, but she had managed only just barely. When Happy opens the door for him to exit the car and retrieve her bags, Pepper embraces him in a tearful hug.

He wraps his arms around her tightly. This may have only been the fifth time they had seen each other, but grief does strange things to people, and even the put together Pepper was not immune to its effects.

"Come on," he had said. "Let's get you home."

Two night ago, Bruce let the team know he was going with Happy to pick Pepper up at the airport, and Steve knew some serious business was about to take place. Bruce left for the airport an hour before the plane had even landed because his nerves were getting to him just sitting around and waiting. Maybe a nice long drive would soothe him. Anything to make him stop wringing his hands together, the Other Guy howling inside him.

When he was sure Bruce had left the Tower and he knew that he would be left alone, Steve got out his sketchbook. Only, it wasn't for drawing this time. Had anyone been curious enough to peer inside, they would have found pages upon pages of crossed out letters and speeches of apologies to Tony and Pepper and Bruce, outlines of everything he had done wrong, of fights they had had over the stupidest of things, some that he could not even recall. Careless comments made about his once-idol Howard, about a dark past he was asleep for nearly all of.

He was a man out of time, but certainly not a man without of time. Surely there had to be room for improvement. There just _had_ to be. He would find the words, no matter how long it might take to acquire them.

"I know they're talking about me," Tony remarks after he takes his last bite of toast.

This is the first time he's spoken since Bruce left the room, and Clint is unsure of how to respond to his statement. He moves Tony's tray away to buy himself some time. He doesn't want to startle Tony into silence again, so he settles on:

"Well, can you blame them?"

Tony takes a breath before answering. As much as he fucking hates to admit it, no, he really can't blame them. He doesn't have the right to blame them. Not after what he's put them through the past seven months now. But damn, that didn't make him feel any better! He didn't even get a say in how his problems were going to be handled? What kind of shit was that! Ok, but then again, the last time he had been allowed to keep his recovery in his own hands, it hadn't turned out so well, now had it?

"I guess not. Doesn't mean it doesn't suck."

"Of course it sucks. Nobody wants their fate decided for them. But you have to prove to them, when you're good and ready, that you can handle your own decisions. Right now, you can't. And that's fine; that's why we're all here."

"Oh? You know what it's like to be fucked around with your whole life? You got fucked up the ass when you were fifteen?" he says viciously, anger flaring up at his presumably over-familiarization with his past.

For a while, Clint doesn't answer his question. It's been a long while since he's had to talk about what happened to him before and after his life with the circus. It's something he's come to terms with, though he can't say it's a topic he enjoys discussing.

"I'll say this, Stark," he says, using his last name again, "I know what it's like to have your childhood taken away from you before you're even twelve years old. I know what that does to a mind and body. But you know what? There came a time when I got sick and tired of letting my past control me. And I'm not saying it's easy, because it sure as shit was no fucking picnic, I decided to control it instead. I left the circus. I joined SHIELD, and Phil got me a shrink and taught me how to use my aggression out on the other bad guys out there. The bad guys who hurt kids and moms and dads and grandparents and people who just sometimes end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. I made something positive out of a negative. I help people. I took charge of my life because I knew that if I didn't, there wouldn't be any life left for my past to consume."

It's the most he's ever heard Clint say in one sitting. And it physically hurts him to hear those words come out of his mouth.

"Clint, I didn't know..."

"Yeah, well, now you do. No more excuses, Tony. I know it's one of the worst things that can ever happen to a person. I understand. I really do fucking get it. And I can't just sit by and watch you let your past to take the wheel from you. That's not you! You're Tony Stark! You make cool tech and have cool cars and, I don't know if you know this, but you're an Avenger too, and you can _fly_. Who else can fly like you, Tony? Are you going to let your past take that away from you?"

Tony feels tears sting the back of his eyes. Flying.

"I-"

"Look, you don't have to answer me now. It's ok if you can't. But just promise me that you'll think about what I said?"

Tony manages a nod. He doesn't think he could get the words over the lump that's taken residence in his throat.

"You're too important to us to give up on our team and yourself. We're here for you. We're _all _here to help you, Tony. All you need to do now is reach out and take it."


	11. Chapter 11

The next few months aren't exactly what Tony would call smooth, but it's not as unbearable as it was a year ago. He has full control of his hands again, which everyone is relieved about because a bored Tony is not a happy Tony. He's been seeing his therapist and doesn't even need to be reminded to take his medication again, though Bruce often cannot help but ask him, just in case. And Fury, pleased and relieved to see some progress and improvement in mood in Tony even decided to clear him for light duty—tech work, policy notes, filing. It's desk duty, but Tony is more than willing to prove himself capable in the eyes of this team and in the eyes of the public. It doesn't take long for a society that is used to seeing the former playboy out and about all the time, partying and drinking it up, suddenly go off the grid. There are some magazine articles that SHIELD pulls from publication, as well as some files that get put in a room of boxes that have yet to be digitized, some documents dating as far back as 1917, that no one has set into yet. Of course, not everything can be kept silent. There was his hospitalization and surgery after all, as well as subsequent partial hospitalization therapy sessions he was mandated to attend...

"Pep, don't you think that I, that _you _deserve a day off? Where just you and I can go out? When was the last time it was just the two of us?" Tony asks, putting on his best Bambi eyes and trying to get Pepper to forget just how busy her schedule is.

Pepper sighs, but with good humor.

"Of course you and I deserve a day off. Believe me, I know what it's like to not want to do mountains of paperwork for a temperamental boss. But today is not that day. Have you asked if Bruce is available? Or Steve? I know the two of you have been really working at things lately," she suggests.

Tony sighs too and plays with a pen he has been tinkering with, thinking of different functions he might be able to add to it. Something sleek and shiny and awesome.

"We have," he begins. "Things have been better since we talked. It's still weird though, and you can't blame me for that. But I don't know."

"Whatever you're comfortable with, Tony. You're setting the boundaries. Steve knows that and has respected that. We all know how difficult it was for you two to finally talk. But maybe some normalcy would be nice. It might take the edge off the tension you're both feeling."

"What would we even do?"

"I don't know, Tony. Whatever a billionaire with a brain the size of Alaska wants to do. I'm sure you'll think of something. Maybe Bruce will have an idea. Or maybe you could even ask Steve."

Tony knows Pepper is right. The key here is to remember to keep moving forward. The past is behind him, and he has already taken the huge step of forgiving Steve. There really was no way Steve could have known; he understands that now. He was born almost twenty-five years after Steve's plane crashed. And, in a way, Steve had been used too. Erskine may have seen the positivity someone like Steve could bring the Army, but all Howard was a boytoy, someone for him to play with and use to make him look good and someone for him to show off. It was Howard who taught how to talk dirty in bed, taught him all those bad things to say. They weren't sexy or cutesie like Steve probably thought. And Steve, having been a virgin before Howard took that from him, would have no idea what Howard was even doing. That Howard was trying to corrupt him. If Steve hadn't ended up on ice, Tony can only imagine how much his influence would have warped Steve's kindness and empathy and character. And of course sweet, innocent Steve thought he was working for the good of America.

It's amazing what his brain can realize and rationalize when he's not in panic mode. Though the way in which it occurred was nowhere near ideal, he's more than glad to have his thought processes and control over his emotions back. It's amazing what opening up has done for him, truly.

Tony takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Alright, Pep. I'm sure we'll think of something. Raincheck?"

Pepper leans down to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Of course. I'll see if we can get a reservation at _Chic. _I know how much you liked it the last time we went there."

She turns on her emerald heel with a smile and click-clacks her way out the office door.

Tony can't help but smile in return. Pepper had to be the best partner-best friend-confidant-cool person ever.

Speaking of cool person, where was Bruce? Maybe he would have some ideas for his and Steve's...thing. Yeah, he still needed to work on that one. Never mind, it would come to him eventually.

But first, this pen and what he could add to it. Man, having use of your hands is amazing.


End file.
